


Say something

by Briar_Rose7



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Let there be feels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 06:07:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20169391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Briar_Rose7/pseuds/Briar_Rose7
Summary: “I’ll give you a lift, anywhere you want to go.”It’s phrased like an offer, but it’s actually a request.Stay, Crowley is asking,stay with me.[…]“Crowley…” he says, but he has no idea of what to say next. His mouth feels dry, his voice barely a whisper. He wants this, wantshim, more intensely and more desperately than he could ever hope to put into words, but he’s stuck. Stuck between what he feels and what he’s supposed to feel, between the hurt that he’ll cause them both if he walks away, and the fear of what might happen to the both of them if he stays and Heaven and Hell find out.





	Say something

**Author's Note:**

> Another Ineffable Husbands ficlet, because I just have so many feelings about these two. I really had so much fun with this, because I just love writing about emotions. I feel like I could write thousands of words with barely anything happening, just losing myself in the characters' minds. 
> 
> Infinite thanks to my amazing beta [simonspierisapeanut](https://simonspierisapeanut.tumblr.com).

“I’ll give you a lift, anywhere you want to go.”

It’s phrased like an offer, but it’s actually a request. _Stay_, Crowley is asking, _stay with me. _They’ve been dancing around each other for centuries now, but angels don’t dance, and Aziraphale feels as out of sorts as he did when he first tried to learn the gavotte. Oh, he loved it, but it had taken him so long to work up the courage to try it, and now he’s scared again, except this time the stakes are much, _much_ higher.

“Crowley…” he says, but he has no idea of what to say next. His mouth feels dry, his voice barely a whisper. He wants this, wants _him_, more intensely and more desperately than he could ever hope to put into words, but he’s stuck. Stuck between what he feels and what he’s supposed to feel, between the hurt that he’ll cause them both if he walks away, and the fear of what might happen to the both of them if he stays and Heaven and Hell find out.

Crowley looks at him, his ever-present shades hiding the hope and the longing in his eyes, but his whole body betrays his feelings in a way Aziraphale has long ago learned how to read. The air between them feels almost unnaturally still, and for a moment Aziraphale wonders if Crowley has stopped time to give them a moment alone, protected and shielded from the world outside.

“Crowley,” he tries again, and he knows what he wants to say, but he can’t, he _can’t_. His hand moves, almost on its own volition, to grab one of Crowley’s. Crowley looks down in shock, and slowly turns his hand in Aziraphale’s, so that he’s holding onto him, his thumb gently stroking the back of his hand. It’s such a tender gesture, so unfit for a demon, and it makes Aziraphale’s heart soar and his stomach churn. He wants to stay, but he should go. He can’t bring himself to pull away, and he can’t find the courage to move forward. He’s stuck, torn apart from the inside out, and finally he breaks. His eyes fill with tears, and he’s sobbing, his hand now clenched around Crowley’s, anchoring him to the only thing that still feels real while all of his certainties collapse.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry angel, I didn’t mean to,” Crowley says, his voice soft and tinged with panic. _I didn’t mean to put you in this situation_, _I didn’t mean to put so much pressure on you, I didn’t mean to fall for you._ He’d just been so moved by his gesture, by his willingness to go against Heaven to bring him the Holy Water, that he tried to move too fast, and now his angel is hurting and it’s _his_ fault. He tries to pull his hand back, ready to give Aziraphale all the space and time that he needs, but his angel holds onto him with surprising strength, letting out a distressed noise.

“Don’t go, _please_, don’t go,” Aziraphale all but begs him, pulling on his hand to draw him close, and as always Crowley obliges him, and now he has a crying angel in his arms. Being in a car forces him to be at a bit of an awkward angle, but that’s the farthest thing from his mind as Aziraphale buries his face in the crook of his neck, clinging to him like his life depends on it.

“I’m not going anywhere, unless you want me to,” he whispers in his angel’s ear. “We’ll go to the Ritz whenever you want. Tonight, in a week, in a thousand years. I’ll wait.”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale says, his voice muffled against Crowley’s skin. “I’m sorry I just… I’m _soft_.”

He says _soft_ as another would say _weak, coward,_ and Crowley can’t stand it, can’t stand the idea of Aziraphale thinking so little of himself. He _is_ soft, but it’s far from a bad thing. He’s soft, and that’s why he can’t find it in himself to turn his back at Heaven, the only home he’s ever known. He’s soft, and that’s why he found it in himself to love Crowley, a _demon_ of all people. He’s soft, and that’s one of the many reasons why Crowley loves him back.

“You’re _perfect_, angel. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Because he knows Heaven, he knows Gabriel and Michael and Uriel, and he knows that they’re probably the ones who made Aziraphale feel like this, like he’s not good enough. He hates them for that. Aziraphale doesn’t respond, but squeezes him a little bit tighter. They stay like this for what feels like an eternity, Crowley gently stroking Aziraphale’s back as his sobs gradually subside. The scent of his cologne is so intense up close, and his blonde hair is tickling his cheek, and for a moment Crowley egoistically wishes that Aziraphale hadn’t calmed down, because now that the storm is passing he can focus on all the wonderful little things about holding him so close, and he doesn’t know how he’ll ever find the strength to let him go.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale says again as he eventually pulls back, and if he’s apologizing for the outburst or for pulling back Crowley doesn’t know. Awkwardness creeps back into his smile, in the way he can’t bring himself to look Crowley in the eyes, but still he doesn’t break all contact; his hands, sliding away from Crowley’s back, find once again the path to Crowley’s own.

“We will go to the Ritz one day. I promise,” he says, finally looking at him. Then he closes the distance between them once again, and this time Crowley’s brain straight out short-circuits as his angel presses a soft, gentle kiss on his cheek, just a breath away from the corner of his mouth.

“Just don’t do anything… foolish in the meantime,” Aziraphale whispers, still impossibly close, now eyeing the thermos of Holy Water as if he wished he could snatch it away already.

“I told you, I just want insurance,” Crowley reminds him. “My lots doesn’t just send rude notes. I want to be sure that no one gets in the way of our dinner.”

_I want to be sure I can protect you_, is what he’s trying to say and, this time, Aziraphale understands. He stares at him, relieved and gobsmacked, and then smiles openly and sincerely for the first time tonight, with only the faintest hint of sadness in there.

“Soon. I promise,” he repeats again as he finally disentangles himself from Crowley, the space between them already unbearable, their skin tingling where they were touching until only a moment ago.

Aziraphale steps out of the Bentley, casts another timid smile at Crowley, and walks away. Crowley watches him go until he turns the corner, but right before disappearing from his view, he turns to look back at him another time, and this time Crowley smiles back._ You won’t have to wait forever, _says Aziraphale’s smile. _For you, I would, _says Crowley’s.

_I love you_, say both of them. 


End file.
